


hand in hand down in the park

by snarkingturtle



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 14:57:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3451301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkingturtle/pseuds/snarkingturtle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Sorry, Regina, you’re being repurposed as a pillow. Nothing I can do about it now, you’re just going to have to run with it.”</p>
<p>Regina stares down at Emma, then huffs a little and shakes her head. Mutters something that maybe—definitely—involves the word “fireballs,” but Emma wouldn’t expect anything less, so she just grins and closes her eyes.</p>
<p>And then Regina starts combing her fingers through Emma’s hair, and Emma can’t think about anything else. </p>
<p>***</p>
<p>just a little road trip picnic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hand in hand down in the park

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coalitiongirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coalitiongirl/gifts).



> From a twitter-fic. I DON'T THINK I DID IT RIGHT.

* * *

 

Emma's stomach starts to rumble a few hours into the drive. The first time it happens she just turns up the radio, glances over at Regina and hopes that she didn’t hear. Regina’s reclined a little in her seat with her eyes closed, but her lips twitch at the sound.

 

“Someone ready for lunch?” Regina’s voice is rasping, teasing, and Emma feels her face flush.

 

“Um. Maybe. Yeah. A little. Anything you’re in the mood for?” 

 

Regina rolls her shoulders, looking like she’s trying to work out a crick. “I packed a cooler in the trunk,” she says. “I wasn’t sure what kind of timeline we’d be on. But we can stop somewhere instead if you’d rather.” 

 

“No, that—that sounds great. You want to maybe eat outside? Seems pretty nice out and the air might help if you’re still feeling sick.”

 

Regina nods, so Emma finds directions to a park, and soon they’re pulling to a stop in an almost empty parking lot. Regina stretches as they get out of the car, breathing in deeply and finally starting to look a little less wan; the abrupt loss of magic from crossing the town line had hit her harder than either of them were expecting, and she’d spent most of the ride so far struggling with nausea.  

 

It’s unseasonably warm for this time of year, and Emma watches Regina takes a minute to bask in the sun while Emma pulls the cooler and an old blanket out of the trunk.

 

“Need a hand?” Regina asks, as Emma picks her way across the slightly muddy grass. 

 

Emma shakes her head. “I got it. Just come help me find a spot.”

 

Regina rejects Emma’s first suggestion (“we’re eating outside to _appreciate_ the sun, Emma, not hide from it”), and Emma vetoes a couple of Regina’s (“I’ll turn into a fucking tomato with that much exposure Regina, try again”), before they find something they can both agree on. Which, about time, Emma doesn’t know what exactly Regina has packed, but it’s heavy as hell and her shoulder is killing her. She drops the cooler to the ground with a grunt and is in the middle of spreading out the blanket when she notices Regina looking at her, a wicked smile curving its way across Regina’s face.

 

“What?” Emma asks, wary.

 

“Your jacket has acquired some…additional decoration.” Regina’s gaze flickers to Emma’s left shoulder, and Emma looks down.

 

“Seriously?” She shakes her head and groans, tying her hair into a knot so that it doesn’t fall into the plop of fucking bird poop on her shoulder. “I _just_ got this cleaned.” 

 

Regina bites her lip while her eyes dance. 

 

“It’s not funny!” Emma protests, and Regina honest to god snorts a little. 

 

“I don’t know why you’re upset, it’s clearly an improvement,” she manages to get out, and then she’s really laughing, hair falling into her face while her shoulders shake, and she reaches out to rest a hand on Emma’s forearm to steady herself. Emma thinks she should maybe be insulted, but it’s hard to feel anything other than in awe of how beautiful Regina is like this, completely unguarded and unrestrained, eyes shining in mirth and laughter _bubbling_ out of her. 

 

“Regina!” Emma protests, lightly whacking Regina’s arm. But she’s now giggling a little too, Regina’s laughter too infectious to resist. 

 

“All right, all right,” Regina says, still slightly breathless. She pulls a tissue from her purse, follows it up with a wet wipe after she has gotten the worst of the poop off. “There,” she says. Smiles at Emma, wide and open, and her eyes are bright, so bright, in the sunlight. “All better.” 

 

They settle down and spread out the food together. Regina packed what amounts to some kind of fucking feast, gourmet looking sandwiches, pasta salad, salad-salad, a four-pack of root beer, and a giant-ass bag of Emma’s favorite chips. (Regina _claims_ these are a contribution from Henry, but she’s blushing a little as she says it, won’t look Emma in the eye, and Emma knows full well that Henry hates her chips, is on a constant quest to convert her so that she’ll have ones he likes lying around instead. So she’s pretty sure the chips were entirely Regina’s idea, and what does it mean that Regina pays attention to stuff like what kinds of favorites Emma has?)  There’s even an entire apple pie for desert, and Emma maybe raises her eyebrows at that, but Regina just smiles. Sticks her fork in it without bothering to cut a slice and takes this slow bite that makes Emma’s heart thud and her mouth go dry. 

 

When they’re done eating Emma’s so full she thinks she might never move again, thinks if she doesn’t lie down _right now_ she will maybe actually explode, and so without giving it too much thought she stretches out across the blanket, resting her head in Regina’s lap.

 

Regina instantly stiffens. 

 

“What do you think you’re—”

 

“Sorry, Regina, you’re being repurposed as a pillow. Nothing I can do about it now, you’re just going to have to run with it.”

 

Regina stares down at Emma, then huffs a little and shakes her head. Mutters something that maybe—definitely—involves the word “fireballs,” but Emma wouldn’t expect anything less, so she just grins and closes her eyes.

 

And then Regina starts combing her fingers through Emma’s hair, and Emma can’t think about anything else. 

 

She opens one eye.

 

“Um.”

 

“Your hair is a tangled mess. Do you ever brush it?”

 

“Of course I brush it! I brush it all the time. You don’t even know how much I have to brush it. And in my defense, we had the windows down, and it was windy.” 

 

“Hmm.” Regina is clearly unimpressed, fingers continuing to move deftly through the knots and snarls in Emma’s hair. And Regina’s right, Emma’s hair _is_ a mess—it’s never taken kindly to being windblown—but Regina’s touch is surprisingly gentle, never tugging or pulling. 

 

And maybe it’s that she’s almost in a food coma. Maybe it’s the scent of Regina’s perfume all around her, or the feel of Regina’s fingers against her head, or the way Regina’s hair gleams in the sunlight when Emma looks up at her, but Emma can’t remember the last time she was happy to be so _still_ , to lie somewhere and just _be_.

 

Overhead a bird whistles and Regina tracks it with her eyes, gaze going a little distant, reflective. “You know when Henry was little,” she says, “he really wanted a pet. So he used to make bird and squirrel ‘traps’ that he would leave out in the back yard—he’d take an old shoe box, sprinkle it with seeds and peanuts, and put double-sided tape all along the bottom of the box. Theoretically the bird or squirrel would get lured in by the treats, get stuck on the tape, and Henry would have his pet.”

 

Emma laughs. “I’m guessing it didn’t work?”

 

“Suffice to say, the local wildlife population did not fall for his schemes.” Regina’s smile grows a little wistful. “We did raise butterflies, once.”

 

“Really?”

 

Regina nods. A little bit of a breeze has picked up, blowing some strands of hair across Regina’s forehead, and there is something so light, so free, in the expression on her face as she reaches up to brush it back.

 

“There was this patch of wild fennel that we always passed by on our walk to the park. We’d seen caterpillars on it before, so one afternoon we brought a box, and Henry collected all of what he thought were the best looking caterpillars. We took them home, read up on how to care for them, and in about two weeks we had butterflies.” She smiles, eyes bright and sparkling and shot through with amber. “You should have seen him the day we let them go. So happy. So proud. I think he was still grinning when he fell asleep that night.”

 

Regina leans back on one hand (other still absent-mindedly playing with Emma’s hair), closes her eyes and tilts her face up to the sun. And Emma doesn’t think she’s ever seen Regina this…serene, before, face relaxed and unlined, letting out a small hum of contentment as the sun beats down on her. 

 

“You never feel safe there, do you? Not really.” The question’s out before Emma can censor herself, the feel of Regina’s fingers against her scalp and the half-smile of utter contentment on Regina’s face lowering Emma’s defenses and lulling her into an almost hypnotic state.

 

Regina’s eyes open, and she blinks down at Emma in confusion. It takes her a minute to process what Emma asked, and when she does she pulls her hand out of Emma’s hair and sits a little straighter.

 

“I can take care of myself.”

 

“That’s not really the same thing.”

 

Regina’s silent, staring out across the park. Some of the lines are back on her face, and Emma curses herself for opening her mouth, for bringing the shadows back into Regina’s eyes. “No,” Regina says finally, quietly enough that Emma has to strain to hear her. “No, I suppose it’s not.”

 

There’s something so melancholy, so defeated, in Regina’s voice when just minutes ago she was smiling and talking about butterflies, and Emma doesn’t know how to fix it. How to take it all back.

 

“Do you ever think about leaving?”

 

Regina shakes her head. “You’re there,” she says, like it’s an answer, the only answer that matters, and Emma feels her heart stutter as Regina looks down at her, deep and serious.

 

Then Regina’s eyes widen in something like alarm, and she quickly adds on, “And your parents, of course. Henry’s whole—he wouldn’t want to leave. And I couldn’t ask him to. Not after—not after everything.”

 

Emma brings a hand up to rest on Regina’s knee, and Regina gives her this little, faltering smile.

 

“I made it,” she says. “It may have its flaws but I made it, and it’s better than what came before, and that—that has to mean something. Right?”

 

“Yeah.” Emma nods. Swallows hard when her throat feels a little tight. “Yeah, it does.” 

 

They pack up not long after that. Load everything back into the car, and the air feels heavy, somber, and Emma thinks about Regina, laughing so hard she was almost doubled-over, and her chest aches, aches, aches. 

 

 


End file.
